


MVP

by gigantic



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: Damon spends most of the fall not thinking about what Jack can do off the ice. Then he gets first star.
Relationships: Jack Hughes/Damon Severson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 124





	MVP

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to M and Kay for the help! 
> 
> The dubcon tag applies pretty much to all the world-building. Check the notes at the end if you want more description on the setup.

Damon isn’t thinking much about what Jack can do off-ice at first. Not really. He’s overheard the occasional comment, but he doesn’t seek out stories and the team doesn’t flaunt it anyway. It’s normal. They respect all aspects of Jack’s game, same as every team has done for anyone who’s been through it before him.

It isn’t until he comes across Mac and Mikey watching videos on a cell phone one day, late after practice, that he sees any of Jack’s sessions first hand. Most of the team is gone for the day. The locker room is empty enough that Damon can hear a wet coughing noise coming from what Mac and Mikey are watching all the way across the room, even with the volume set low.

“What are you two doing?” he asks finally, moving closer. He can tell it’s Jack on screen pretty quickly, face flushed and mouth wide open, a cock pushing deeper until he chokes and has to pull back. “Damn.” Damon swallows almost in sympathy. “Is that yours, Mikey?”

It would make sense. It’s been two days since Mikey got the jacket in Arizona.

But Mac says, “No, mine.” 

“Jack’s hanging out with me tonight,” Mikey says.

Damon’s eyebrows shoot up. “You haven’t taken your time yet?”

Mikey shrugs a shoulder, sheepish about it. “I wasn’t sure what he could do, or what I wanted.”

“He can do a lot now,” Mac says breezily, all of them looking back to the phone where Jack finally has all of Mac’s cock in his mouth. He still chokes around the length some but perseveres, breathing heavily through his nose.

Mikey exhales and asks, “Did you have him doing that all night?” 

“Yeah, the first time. He wanted to learn.”

“Wait, how many times have you had him again?” Damon asks.

“Twice. The second time, I fucked him.”

“How was that?” Damon asks, though he’s still distracted by Jack’s face on-screen. His eyes are watery but he keeps blowing Mac, taking him further down his throat any time he feels ready.

Mac hums idly and then stops the video to go back to his camera roll. “Umm, good. I don’t think I have video of that.” He searches for a few seconds, opens a new file. “Oh, pictures.”

He tilts the phone toward Damon, and then Mikey. They’re clear shots of his cock at Jack’s rim, and then the head inside. He has a few similar follow-ups and then a final shot of come striping Jack’s ass.

“Wow,” Mikey says.

Mac nods. “Yeah. He’ll try anything, he told me.” He locks his phone screen and sets it aside, smiling. “Answer your question?”

Mikey still seems kind of stunned, in all honesty. Damon chuckles; he gets it.

“Yeah—yes,” Mikey says after a beat. “You think he’ll let me put Nater on Facetime?”

“Ohh. Creative.” Damon doesn’t know why he wouldn’t have expected that ask from Mikey, but it impresses him somehow anyway. 

Mac looks appreciative too and says, “Yeah, probably.”

“Okay.” Mikey’s mouth quirks up, smile stretching as whatever he’s imagining falls into place in his mind. “Okay, good. Thanks.”

Damon almost feels jealous after seeing Mac’s personalized Jack Hughes porn. He thinks about Mac’s words again: He’ll try anything. Fuck.

— 

After that, it’s hard not to think about Jack’s all-around skill. He’s getting his bearings on the ice, flashes of his pre-draft magic shining through, and now Damon has a more vivid idea about the other parts.

He lets his thoughts drift to Jack that night in the shower, about how full his mouth looked in Mac’s video, the corner of his lips stretching around Mac’s girth. He thinks about the way he didn’t complain. Damon imagines what Jack might look like on his knees right here in his apartment and jerks off slow, letting it relax him.

Losing more than they want has generally been keeping Damon’s mind on more pressing things. He doesn’t want to put himself in the position to be traded, focused on how he can help the team steal two points every game. Plus, first star isn’t something he ever expects to get. He’s still more of a hardworking role player than a stud, and he’s made peace with that, but it means rookie bonuses aren’t really ever given to Damon to celebrate. As much as he’s enjoyed seeing occasional videos on teammates’ phones, there’s no use in dwelling too long on what he’s way less likely to feel for himself. 

That’s usually his thinking, anyway. A fantasy now and then doesn’t hurt.

Damon doesn’t watch Jack so much as notice how easily he smiles. Jack in the daylight is different than the guy on film. He’s not pushy, but there’s a joyful cockiness that doesn’t quite read the same way when he’s swallowing cock. Damon wonders if submission is part of the performance, or if he really does edge on the intense side of desperate. Is he different when he’s not helping teammates? Damon wonders how Jack acts when he’s having sex just because he feels like it.

He pictures it both ways: Damon flirting with Jack until they go home together, and Jack gets pushy in bed. Or maybe Jack wants to lie back and let Damon have his way. At home, Damon slides his hand up and down his shaft and swaps out the scenario based on his mood. 

In both, he pulls out before he comes so he can drench Jack’s face. 

A group of guys go out for dinner just before the holidays. They opt for that instead of a bar so that they don’t need to think twice about whether the boys under 21 will be able to pass through security without hassle. Damon and a few others still do the junior classmen a solid and order them drinks with dinner.

He’s not sitting by Jack to start the night. Greener and Simmer are between them, the conversation lively all along the entire table. Greener proves he’s the greatest alive by paying for everything before he heads out early.

“Old man early to bed, early to rise,” PK jokes.

Everybody laughs, but Greener isn’t the only one to pack it in after one round. More and more gaps start to dot the table. Jack moves down a few seats, right on the other side of Damon to get Miles’ attention. He’s not sure but it sounds like they’re jawing about a TV show they’re both watching.

”Right, we have the break for Christmas, but when we get back,” Jack says.

Miles nods. “Yeah, let’s do it. We can marathon last season.”

“You have time to binge TV?” Damon asks, nudging Jack.

“‘Friday Night Lights,’ did you watch it?” Jack says. “I told this guy I liked ‘All-American,’ and he said I should go back and watch that.”

Damon shakes his head. “I saw a little. Not a real follower though.” 

“It’s really good. I’m almost done.”

Gesturing to Miles, Damon asks, “You guys watch together, though?”

“No, we’ve been saying we will. Make plans, break ‘em.” Jack rolls his eyes, then smiles. “The schedule, you know?”

Damon still barely feels like he has free time during the season. He can’t imagine what a whirlwind it’s been for Jack between games and practice and press and rewarding whichever star of the game gets the jacket.

“Are you holding up okay?

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I remember it was a lot for me, adjusting to the schedule, more travel.”

“Nicer hotels, though,” Jack counters. “And planes. Those are helpful.”

Damon remembers, suddenly, Miles early in the season coming over to Taylor in the locker room after the game, then Andy, and then taking Jack into the plane’s back area where guys usually played cards. They’d closed the divider. They might have been in there the whole flight.

“But you’re splitting your time okay? Making sure you sleep and everything.”

“Yeah.” Jack angles his head, considering Damon.

“Guys are nice?”

He’s not sure how Jack will respond. From what inconsistent time Damon has spent around him, Jack seems easygoing, but Damon’s never sure about what he can get away with here. Every rookie is different, and protocol says they don’t have to talk about it.

A weighted second passes and Jack smiles again but with his mouth closed. “Uh, yeah. Well, in general, yeah,” he says. “That’s not always what they want though. For the whole time.” 

He raises an eyebrow, inviting Damon to chime in from experience. There isn’t really much to give him, not like some of the other real skill guys on the roster. It’s easy to imagine though, teammates buying Jack dinner or driving him to their homes and then fucking him hard and fast before they can even make it to the bedroom.

Damon wonders if Jack is noisy.

“I guess so,” he says.

“And Hallsy was a good mentor.” Jack picks up an unused fork on the table, lightly tapping the tines on a napkin. Idle hands. “He’s been on both sides, you know?”

Right, Damon forgot about that. “Nico, too.”

Nico’s pretty, though Damon never had the pleasure.

“Yeah. Hallsy told me I could go to him more now, before he left.”

That has to be fun, being the only one with access to Jack any free night of the season. There’s responsibility, sure, but there are some obvious perks. Taylor putting Jack on his knees and calling it a maintenance day. Damon kind of wishes he’d thought to ask Taylor about it.

He says, “Good thing you had him.”

Jack nods but shrugs. “He said you still learn more just from doing it over and over. You know how it is.”

Stories and videos have given Damon an idea, at least. He can just think of Mac’s stash even, of Jack practicing all night, like deepthroating is a drill. 

“So I’ve heard.”

He’ll never be able to fully get what Jack means though — on either side, considering Jack’s been first star more than once already in his first NHL half-season. He’s paying dues now, but later he’ll have his pick of rewards. He could be just like Taylor. Damon will never be able to relate. 

Jack’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine surprise. “You’ve never done it?”

“Not never,” he says honestly. “But still…”

He’s been rewarded enough to fantasize about spreading someone like Jack out on a table just like this one with some real-world mental snapshots, but not enough to know. _Really_ know. Mac can already tell how Jack has improved. Damon can’t fathom getting that kind of time.

“You don’t like it?” Jack’s cheeks are flushed from the drink or two he’s had. It somehow makes him look more earnest.

Damon chuckles, eyes flicking to where Jack sets down the fork and then back to his face. “Not really asked often.”

“What if I asked you? Would you turn me down?”

That’s that cockiness seeping in, almost challenging Damon without ever seeming anything other than pleasant. 

“Has anyone turned you down yet?”

Jack stares right at him, not shying away from eye contact. “No.”

Of course not. Damon wouldn’t either. He shifts in his seat, his left leg nudging Jack’s when he settles. 

“I don’t think there’s a right answer here,” he says. He hasn’t ever read the rules in full but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell the rookie you want to fuck him, even if he already knows you do, just like every other guy on the team.

Amusement stretches Jack’s lips in another closed-mouth smile. “It’s not a quiz.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about it anyway.”

Lifting a shoulder, Jack says, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

— 

They win right before break, a good way to send everybody off for three days of recuperation. Damon even manages to grab second star, and he can’t help but think about Jack’s flushed cheeks and coy conversation.

_Maybe_, he thinks, but of course first star gets the jacket. Jack sits with Blake on the plane and then follows Blake right to his car after they touch down in Jersey.

Damon has some plans anyway.

They lose in overtime after Christmas. It’s not the best sign that they’re serious about turning things around heading into the new year, but at least they go down late instead of letting the wheels fall off early. Nico’s clearly rested, racking up three points. 

Jack proves he still has his legs under him the next game, almost in response. He assists the tying goal and of course dazzles everybody with the winner in overtime. His grin is all teeth in the locker room when he’s awarded the jacket.

Guys clap and pat him on the back. Jack poses, shades on, and lets people hang off him for a few minutes each time they come over to say he’s doing a good job.

Damon asks, “So what do you do when you win it?” It’s already happened more than once now.

“Whatever I want,” Jack says.

“FaceTimes his boyfriends in Wisconsin,” Miles teases as he strolls up. 

Jack elbows him. “The jealousy.”

“No way.” Miles deflects the weak attack easily. “Are we still watching this show finally, or what?”

“Tomorrow? Yeah.”

Damon bows out of trying to maintain conversation. He notices that Miles leaves with Jack and Corey, and it occurs to him on his way home that he doesn’t know if any guys have taken Jack back there for what’s theirs. He doubts it, considering that Corey has a full house, but there’s something tempting in the concept: a hand over Jack’s mouth, keeping his whimpers silent as a cock drills into him in his bedroom while Corey goes to find his wife and go to bed. The awkwardness of the morning after escape might even be worth it.

In the few weeks since Mac showed off his videos, Damon’s collected a number of filthy possibilities featuring Jack. He adjusts himself in his car and hits the gas pedal when a red light switches green.

— 

Nobody expects to go to a shootout. But this is the _Bruins_, one of the toughest teams in the league this season. Ten minutes into the third, Damon isn’t sure if they’ll be able to find that game-tying goal. Their energy isn’t high enough, but then they do get it and last through extra minutes. Damon’s not expecting to be put into the shootout; he’s not expecting to score, or _any_ of it.

He’s not expecting to feel like his nerves are pure electricity after. They call the players of the game in the locker room, and he’s first star but Mac had to make the last stop on Bergeron for that to matter. Mac more than deserves the jacket, so Damon minds his business when Jack finally comes back from the trainers’ room and grabs the hanger.

He’s more than halfway over to Damon when it fully sinks in that Jack’s saying his name.

Damon meets him partway, towering over Jack more than usual with his skates still on his feet. Jack says, “Look at that,” completely relaxed as Damon accepts the coat and shoves his arms through the sleeves.

The team wants a short speech, so he loses sight of Jack for a minute. Then it’s all hustle to get out and get a move on, and Damon feels like everything blows by him in a haze of white noise. His mind is preoccupied with the warmth blossoming in his gut, the anticipation making his fingers tingle.

Jack finds him again after his shower, touching Damon’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Damon says. This is it. He gets to make a decision here.

“Tonight?” Jack asks. “There’s tomorrow too.”

There are pros and cons to both. Having to travel shortens their night tonight. The adrenaline of the game may have worn off by the time they’re in the hotel. On the other hand, tomorrow they’d have to call it early too, thanks to morning skate in Long Island.

He could also turn Jack down completely.

He won’t. Damon’s dick isn’t going to let him pretend he hasn’t been hoping for this.

“Tonight.”

Jack smiles and walks away. While Damon’s zipping up his bags, he gets a text message from an automated number. It takes him a second to recognize it as info about Jack — his hard nos, a reminder about preventing strain and injury, that he has until 8am the next morning, et cetera. Things have been upgraded since the last time Damon had the opportunity. Last time he got an honest-to-God card with bullet points.

In a way, knowing what Jack won’t do makes it all feel more real. Damon’s mind starts spinning through everything not listed, that there’s a lot Jack says yes to.

“Ready?” he asks Jack once he’s set to walk out.

“Yep.”

Jack comes along easily, no hint of anything in his voice. He’s used to it by now, clearly. Being owned for a night is just another part of his entire debut-season experience.

Damon lets him walk a step ahead and rests his hand high on Jack’s back, sliding up to squeeze his neck gently, because it’s comfortable. And he can. It feels like a second win.

He likes getting on the plane with Jack and catching a few guys’ eyes as they make their way to the back rows. He likes that Jack sitting with him is a reminder to everyone, silent as it is, that Damon gets to hold him down and take advantage of Jack’s ass as much as he wants tonight.

“Want one?” Jack asks, holding out an earbud for Damon. He has his ipad propped open in its case to watch TV. 

The flight isn’t long enough to settle in really, but he accepts. Watching an episode of ‘Friday Night Lights’ also provides a nice reason for Damon to keep his eyes fixed on one spot as his hand slides over Jack’s thigh. Jack shifts on his seat but not away, slumping down a little and opening his legs. Damon lets the side of his hand brush Jack’s cock first, just a suggestion, and Jack exhales through his nose. Damon feels for the shape of Jack’s cock trailing fingertips along the bulge and Jack’s eyes flutter shut.

It’s a rush. Watching Jack start to struggle, even in his periphery, sends a thrill through Damon. 

“Can I do this?” he asks, finding Jack’s fly to undo the fastening and untuck his shirt enough to slip his hand into Jack’s pants.

Jack bites his lip and breathes. Damon already knows he can’t say no. 

“If you want,” Jack says. His voice is a whisper.

Damon does. He looks around to make sure no one else on the plane is getting up. Satisfied, he turns his attention to Jack fully for a moment, folding the flaps of his zipper open and pushing the front of his underwear down to pull his erection just free.

Jack’s left hand grips the armrest, and Damon faces his shoulders forward again and traces the side of his shaft with one hand. Up and down, up and down, so slow that he knows it has to be agonizing.

Damon steals looks down at Jack’s cock when he can, admiring the way Jack’s hips cant forward sometimes. It’s just this side of greedy, eager for relief and completely aware he can’t demand it. 

“Don’t make a sound,” Damon reminds him as he watches Jack’s jaw drop, a silent groan there. Damon smears the precome that dribbles from the tip and wraps his hand around Jack in earnest, stroking him steadily.

He loves this. The plane is full of people, their coworkers, and Damon is watching his hand jerk off Jack’s pretty cock out in the open. He’s going to see Jack get off right here where he shouldn’t and then leave him exposed until they have to land.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers, and Jack turns his head away like he can't weather quite so much. His fingernails bite into the armrest. “If you moan, they’ll know.”

Damon almost wishes Jack would break anyway. He wouldn’t even try to pretend something else is going on, and he could watch Jack’s face as he deals with the reality that all the guys have heard him. 

He seems to get close to losing it once but then remembers his winter scarf. Jack snatches it from the seat pocket in front of him and smashes the fabric against his mouth, muffling a choked whimper as comes spills over Damon’s hand and his lower belly. He shudders in his seat, hips jerking. Damon doesn’t let up until Jack’s cock twitches in his hand, overstimulated. Jack sighs into the scarf and finally goes limp as Damon lets him go.

“Good.”

Damon takes the scarf and wipes his fingers on it. He dabs at whatever mess has landed on Jack’s skin too and then hands the scarf back to Jack. A strong start. He goes back to watching the show and appreciates that Jack seems content to just sit there, spent, for the rest of the flight.

—

Getting from the plane to the hotel to Jack’s room takes entirely too long. Luckily they don’t have to pretend they intend to go to separate places or act like Damon doesn’t plan to fuck him as soon as possible. Together they go right up, catching an elevator with Simmer and Palms. Jack’s coat and shirttails do the job of hiding any mess they missed on the plane, his scarf held tightly in his fist. He chats with the others with a convincing enough nonchalance that Damon honestly admires the effort.

Damon mostly keeps quiet, but he says goodnight as he and Jack step out of the elevator. His heartbeat thumps harder the closer they get to Jack’s room number.

Finally inside, he doesn’t see a reason for delaying what we wants. They drop their bags in the door, Jack one pace ahead. Damon moves up behind him and wraps his arms around to Jack’s front, pulling his coat open as he bends in to tuck his mouth against Jack’s neck, kissing gently.

Jack still smells sort of fragrant, like whatever soap he used in the shower. Damon sucks at the skin lightly, envisioning the hickeys he could leave in his wake tonight.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you for weeks,” he admits, whispering even though they’re alone now.

Jack helps shrug out of his coat and allows Damon to go for his shirt buttons next.

“I could tell,” he says, tipping his head to give more access.

“Oh yeah?” Damon nudges him away. “Take off your own clothes. Face me.”

He needs them to be naked faster, and he wants this chance to simply look his fill at Jack’s body. Obviously he’s lean. There’s no surprise there, but getting to see his shirt fall from his shoulders and watch his underwear come down his hips, soft cock and balls bobbing as he bends to clear his feet — that’s still incredible. It’s different than in a locker room because it’s meant for him.

“Can I have the full view?” Damon asks and twirls his finger.

Jack turns to his right, rotating. He’s shorter but he still has long limbs. His body is nice all the way around, from his sweet face to the perfect curve of his small, round ass and on down. Jack peers over his shoulder as he goes, looking at Damon’s face, and it just makes him hotter. 

Damon ditches his pants, but by the time Jack completes the 360, he wants to touch Jack again too much to finish with his own shirt. He thinks he can lift Jack with no real effort, so he does, scooping him up and reveling in the startled, aborted laugh it rips from Jack. Instinctively, legs hitch up around Damon’s hips. Jack drapes his arms around Damon’s shoulder and hangs on as Damon walks them all the way to the bed.

Jack looks down at Damon for once, still not afraid of eye contact. His fingers come up to his hair, grazing the back of Damon’s scalp. 

Right next to the bed, he stops and savors the seconds before he cranes up. Jack’s eyes flick down to Damon’s just before his face goes blurry from proximity and their lips touch.

Jack’s moans are as cute as the rest of him. Damon quickly licks into his mouth, deepening the kiss, earning small noises from Jack. Making out is nice standing and better when Damon pivots and topples them down onto the mattress. He can feel Jack’s cock at half-mast between them. It’s perfect.

He wants to jerk him off again. He wants to kiss down Jack’s sternum until he’s low enough to suck him off. Damon wants to open him up every way he can think of, until Jack is exhausted and covered in a mix of their come, but it’s hard to figure out where to start when he’s buzzing so much. He needs to take the edge off first.

“Do you have lube?”

Jack nods. “Inside pocket of my bag.”

Thankfully the bottle isn’t hard to find. There are condoms too, but the guideline text didn’t list them as mandatory, so he leaves them in the bag. He’d rather feel all of Jack.

Damon dribbles lube onto his fingers as he makes his way back to the bed, coating his cock. 

“Turn over,” he says and smacks Jack’s ass once when he moves to his belly.

Damon palms both cheeks, kneading, and spreads them so that he can look at Jack’s hole. Small but pristine. Rubbing slick fingers along smooth skin causes a shiver. Damon smiles.

He pulls Jack to the edge of the bed, bending his knees so that backs of his feet rest against the hollows of Damon’s pelvis. How cool that Jack’s short enough to fold up, the cutest little fucktoy.

Damon presses his cock between Jack’s cheeks, thrusting along the cleft. Jack exhales audibly, pushing his ass up.

“Look at this,” Damon says and waits for Jack to prop on his elbows and look behind him. “Think it’ll fit?”

His cock looks so fat right against Jack’s body. Damon’s tall. He’s always been big, and that means everything. Jack rolls his hips gingerly, half-encouraging and maybe half-testing.

“I can take you,” he says.

Damon isn’t waiting for his permission, but it seems like as good a time to slide in as any. He nudges down to Jack’s hole and guides the head inside. It’s so fucking warm.

Jack gasps as he’s opened up. Damon has no problem taking his time, giving Jack the chance to adjust. He wishes he’d remembered to pick up his phone, because Jack speared on Damon’s thick cock is a sight worth a photo.

“Fuck,” Jack pants, hands clutching the hotel comforter.

Damon smooths a calming hand over his spine. Jack unclenches more, giving into it eventually, though he hisses softly as Damon finally makes it almost all the way inside. The position stops him from burying that last inch, but this is more than good enough. He holds a beat and then pulls out all the way, drizzling more lube over his cock.

Sliding in a second time goes more smoothly. Jack whines, clearly overwhelmed but not complaining. Damon starts a careful rhythm, gauging the expression on Jack’s face, at least as much as he can make it out in profile. But it gets tough to maintain after a minute, seduced by how tightly Jack’s ass is gripping his cock. He starts to speed up, drunk on dipping in and out, timed to the beat of Jack’s wordless exclamations.

Game adrenaline definitely hasn’t worn off. The one benefit to a shorter flight is Damon is still keyed up, and Jack must be too, and fucking him feels exactly like the reward it’s supposed to be. Now that he’s slamming into Jack, he’s amazed he was even able to wait this long. He earned this, and claiming Jack’s hole is three times more satisfying than he imagined. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Damon says. Jack’s still moaning — he _is_ noisy — and a pink flush has spread on his face. “Guys share videos of you. I watched you choke on Mac.”

Jack doesn’t answer. His mouth has gone kind of slack, and Damon likes that too, how he gets too wound and fucked out to do anything but let it happen.

“I’m gonna let you do that for me later,” he promises. Jack whimpers.

Damon moves Jack’s feet, giving him enough space to crowd over Jack’s back. He humps into him in shorter, deeper thrusts and cups Jack’s face. The pads of Damon’s fingers push into Jack’s cheeks, holding him still as he whispers, “You want that? You want this cock in your mouth?” A groan. “Say yes, Jack.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, impossibly soft, and that gets Damon there. He slams into Jack one, two, three more times and comes with a shudder. It takes everything to thrust his way through it, burying his load deep as he can. 

He stands up, watching his cock drag out of Jack. His view of Jack’s hole slowly closing up again is interrupted by Jack turning on to his side to touch his own hard cock. His eyes are squeezed shut, and Damon selfishly enjoys the visual for a moment but finally reaches to move Jack's hand and set his own pace for getting him off. Come pools on the hotel comforter, the second time tonight that Damon’s brought Jack to orgasm. Call him a fast learner.

Flopping down on Jack’s opposite side, Damon looks up at the ceiling and catches his breath. Jack takes his sweet time shifting onto his back and stretches his arms above his head.

“Are you okay?” Damon asks.

Jack points his feet too, really loosening up. It’s just as fascinating to watch him take stock.

“I’m good,” he says and relaxes. “You’re big.”

Damon’s lips pull to the side. “The biggest?”

“Mm.” Jack turns his head toward Damon but doesn’t really look at him, brow furrowed in thought. “Almost. Second star.”

Damon will take that. “Who’s bigger?”

“Greener.”

“_Really_? That’s not who I would’ve guessed.”

Jack laughs. “I don’t know what to tell you. It felt huge.”

Damon rocks onto his side, taking in the length of Jack’s naked body. He brushes his hand over Jack’s belly, down to the hollow of his hip. Jack lets him, helpfully widening his thighs as Damon trails down to his ass again and nudges two fingers into him. 

“Does everybody come in you?”

Jack breathes out slowly through his nose. “Majority.”

“Who hasn’t?”

He fingers Jack really slowly, more exploration than teasing. Jack bites his lip and has to refocus. “Um,” he starts. “Simmer didn’t want to deal with the mess…” He trails off.

“Only him?”

“No,” Jack says and grabs Damon’s wrist but doesn’t stop him. “Palms wanted to share with Louis for one of his. He was bare but Louis wasn’t.” 

Damon pulls his fingers out and props up more, looking right down at Jack. “You can do two at once?”

“Yeah. Your reward, your rules.” He wipes a hand over his face. “Palms did ask first anyway, but yeah. You didn’t know that?”

“I told you, I haven’t had the chance much.”

“Hm.”

Damon gets off the bed, ready to clean up round one. He still has a ton of questions. Scratching the surface has only made him more curious about everything Jack’s done so far this season, how creatively the boys use him. 

He holds out a hand and helps Jack stand too. Jack takes it. “Now you have all night.”

Damon squeezes his ass again. “Yeah.” He pushes Jack toward the bathroom. “Go.”

Jack gets into the shower first. Damon follows him after he stops to piss, sliding his hands around Jack’s water-slick waist. His hands trail down and smooth around to Jack’s ass, cupping him. Damon pushes his fingers up from there, all the way to Jack’s shoulders so he can massage the muscles.

Groaning, Jack drops his head forward, water cascading over his hair and down his back. Comforting him feels as nice as using him, it turns out. Touching Jack is simply good. Full stop. He can understand wanting to share that.

“Did Mikey call Nate while he was with you?”

“Huh?”

Damon says, “Bastian. He said he would.”

“He told you?” Jack asks, glancing back. “Yeah, he was on video. That was a new one.”

“People record you.”

“But I’m not usually live.” Jack turns around and reaches past Damon for the bottle of hotel soap on the shower ledge. “It was different.”

_Did you like it?_ Damon’s tempted to ask, but he doesn’t want to be naive. 

Jack squirts soap into his hand and lathers. He surprises Damon by gliding his palms over Damon’s shoulders first, down his arms. They end up helping each other wash and rinse, though Damon takes longer, savoring the way soapy fingers skate across Jack’s skin.

Once they’re done, Damon hops out of the shower first and grabs the bathrobes. He holds out Jack’s and lets him shrug into it. They’re hooded too, Jack pulling his up so he can rub it over his hair, absorbing the excess water. When he’s satisfied, he pushes the terry cloth hood back. He shakes out his hair and checks it in the mirror.

Damon watches him through the reflection. Jack hasn’t tied the robe together in the front. A straight column of bare skin is right there for all of Damon’s viewing pleasure. 

He likes how comfortable Jack seems like this, exposed and ogled. It could be a learned thing. Maybe most guys on the team enjoy having the chance to freely look, but Damon likes to think some of this is just Jack. He’s pretty, and he’s confident, and that self-assured energy applies even when he’s standing mostly naked in a hotel room. 

Damon trains his eyes on the mirror at first when he extends his hand, pushing at the left side of the robe to get his hand on Jack’s body. Skimming over Jack’s ribs and down to his waist. Jack doesn’t pause for a second when Damon starts nudging, coaxing him to turn in so that Damon can feel up fully. He slides his arms around the inside of Jack’s robe, pulling him near. 

“Hey,” Jack says, peering up, brows lifting in a question.

Damon doesn’t have any pressing thoughts. For a moment, he feels foolishly unprepared.

“What color are your eyes?” he asks. They’re light but hard to pin down in the bathroom light. 

Laughter fills those eyes. “Blue. Gray,” he says. “Sometimes friends say they kind of seem green, but I don’t think so.” 

Damon brings one hand to his face, holding Jack still so that he can get a good look. 

“I don’t see green,” he says. Blue-gray makes sense.

Jack smirks. “Is this what you want to do? Stare into my eyes all night?”

Damon uses the hand still under Jack’s robe to pinch his ass, but Jack’s answering yelp is swallowed by their mouths meeting. Kissing feels semi-scandalous on its own. He’s heard of rookies who never want it, attached to old school boundaries about intimacy. Jack blooms. He presses up onto the balls of his feet and gives back as good as he gets.

Tugging Jack’s body in close magnifies the feeling, skin on skin. His cock brushes Jack’s lower belly as they kiss. Something fizzy lights up Damon’s brain and zips down to his cock. He licks into Jack’s mouth, making out with him, and then nips at his lip.

Damon can still picture Jack with his mouth stretched wide, sucking. He brings his hands to Jack’s shoulders slowly, squeezing the muscles there once, and then pushes down. It doesn’t take much. Jack recognizes the cue and sinks lower. 

“Suck on it,” Damon says, carding fingers through Jack’s damp hair. 

Jack has to sit up on his knees to lean in and get his hand and mouth around Damon. His cock is thick in the circle of Jack’s thumb and fingers. Jack gazes upward, right into Damon’s eyes as he starts to get Damon wet.

With Jack’s lips on him, Damon goes from semi to fully hard again in no time. As Jack really gets going, he puts more concentration into it, choking once when he goes too deep too fast. Damon grips Jack’s hair in his fist. He’s not tugging so much as holding Jack where he wants.

“Let me fuck your mouth,” he says.

Jack gradually drops his hand and relaxes as Damon cautiously thrusts. He builds the rhythm, fucking Jack’s face at an easy, casual pace before long. Jack moans softly with his mouth full, and Damon hopes he’s touching himself. It’s hard to tell looking down at him from this angle.

Coming again like this is tempting. He could unload right down Jack’s throat and watch him swallow every drop. Damon isn’t done wanting to touch Jack, though, and he can only do so much standing around.

“Get up,” he says. “C’mere.”

He kisses Jack when he stands again, savoring the fact that he’s allowed. They make out until Damon feels like breaking off. He pats Jack’s ass and gestures back into the bedroom.

Jack starts to go, but Damon says, “Wait, wait,” and holds on to the hood of the robe. “Not this.”

Yo-yoing back disorients Jack, but he recovers fast. Shedding the robe takes one second, and Damon watches Jack walk naked back to the bed. Following just behind gives him the best view. Climbing onto the bed after him and palming his cheeks again makes everything perfect.

Jack isn’t expecting Damon’s mouth.

He spreads Jack’s ass and leans down without warning. The way Jack gives a full body jolt as the flat of Damon’s tongue swipes over sensitive skin proves he’s surprised. Damon has to pause to smile and collect himself again. Maybe other guys haven’t really done this to him.

The stuttered, breathy moans he earns from Jack make it better. Damon buries his face against Jack, kissing and licking. He pulls back to breathe in and nips at Jack’s ass cheek before diving back down. Jack nudges his hips toward Damon, tentatively seeking out sensation.

“You like that?” Damon asks. He bites Jack’s other cheek this time, more firmly, and chuckles when Jack gasps.

The third time Damon starts to lick, he pushes his tongue against Jack’s hole and reaches around to get a hand on Jack’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Jack says under his breath. His arm darts out and claws at Damon’s hair without finesse, encouraging him.

Damon’s chest swells with something like pride. This one feels genuine. Maybe. It’s foolish to hope, but he does.

He’s tempted again, this time to lick into Jack and stroke him until he dribbles spunk all over the comforter. It would be another win, but Damon wants to see Jack’s face again when he comes.

He sits back and lets Jack go, loving the way Jack whines at being left like he is.

“Don’t worry. I’m not done yet,” Damon says.

If tonight is all he can have, it just doesn’t make sense to spend it any way besides putting his cock inside Jack as much as he can stand. Damon fishes for the lube at the bottom of the bed and squeezes Jack’s thigh as he doubles back, indicating that they’re going all the way to the other end.

Jack moves to his knees and watches Damon first. Damon situates himself in the middle of the bed, back braced against the headboard. He pats his lap but Jack only raises his eyebrows and stays put.

Damon waits.

Jack looks.

“What?” Damon asks.

“I’m not a dog.”

Startled into laughter, Damon says, “Jack, come sit on my dick.”

He almost adds a “please” in there, but he stops short, reminding himself that he doesn’t have to. Jack isn’t doing him a favor; Damon’s earned him. He doesn’t mind the sass, though. It’s hot.

He uncaps the lube as Jack knee walks the distance. “Hold your hand out,” Damon says. “You’re gonna get me ready.”

Jack presents his palm. He does exactly as he’s told, sliding lube over the head and then down. He holds his hand out for more before long, making Damon’s cock really slippery. Damon takes the opportunity to watch the soft planes of Jack’s face, eyes mapping over his nose and cheekbones. He’s beautiful in a way that’s not a secret; it doesn’t have to grow on you, but it still feels magnified up close.

Damon hunches forward to kiss Jack’s cheek, his jaw, and down to his neck until the position stops being comfortable. “Come on,” he whispers.

He sinks down, slouching enough that Jack has room to crawl over his legs. He leans into Damon’s chest, looking down at him as they work to position Damon’s cock. Despite the fact that he’s fucked Jack once already, feeling his tip brush Jack’s hole is still a rush. Damon’s _excited_, pure joy making him smile and kiss Jack’s jaw again right as Jack sits back.

Damon slides in easier this time. They both know what to expect now, and yet actually getting inside Jack still drags a lush groan from Damon’s chest. Jack is so damn tight. He feels even better from this angle, because he’s not controlling the pace. There’s a different kind of anticipation each time Jack’s weight lifts up, not quite knowing how slow or fast he’ll come back down.

Jack looks backward, like he’s trying to gauge his position. He pauses for a longer beat of time, and Damon braces his hands on Jack’s waist, fingers resting where his ass starts to swell. It’s tempting to pull him down, but Damon waits. Squeezing helps take off the edge, but Jack gasps, snapping his gaze back to Damon. 

“Hey,” he says, slightly indignant.

Damon grins. “Are you being a tease?” Jack sits back slow, taking Damon’s cock again finally. Damon moans, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling almost involuntarily. “Fuck, Jack.”

It’s hard to remember what he was even going to bother saying next. 

Jack’s different on top. He looks smug as he lifts and drops, fucking himself on Damon’s cock and watching Damon lose his train of thought. Jack pants a little, like he’s feeling good too, and Damon wants to ask if this is what he prefers. He wants to know if this is how Jack looks when it feels good for real.

Miles mentioned someone in Wisconsin. No, two, Damon thinks. Two guys that Jack talks to all the time and misses and who probably don’t know that Damon’s fucking him for the second time already. He wonders if this is what Jack is like with one of them, or maybe he’s really dating both. This might be how Jack looks when he gets to be with them, and Damon’s managed to fuck him to the same place.

He drops his forehead to Jack's collarbone, huffing out a breath. Damon kisses his throat, his chin and coaxes Jack into giving him his mouth. 

It’s hard to maintain with Jack moving up and down. Something has to give. That’s what breaks Damon’s patience. He presses the pads of his fingers into Jack's skin, holding him still while he shifts enough to find the right leverage. Damon widens his thighs more and starts a new pace, bouncing Jack on his cock so energetically that their skin smacks.

“Sevs,” Jack exhales and grits his teeth, along for the ride.

When Damon wants to kiss him again he stills Jack and instead bucks upward into his ass. He finds Jack's mouth and catches his teeth on Jack’s lip, a little rough. It’s so good. His cock feels amazing right now, lost in hot, wet bliss.

“I could fuck you every day,” he says against Jack’s jaw.

Jack moans, near Damon’s ear, and pants, “Sorry.”

It’s probably a warning as much as it’s an apology. Don’t be gullible, Damon reminds himself. 

He makes the most of right now, pounding into Jack with abandon. He knows the rules, but he wishes he could revisit this feeling. Heat blooms low in his belly and spiders outward, curls back on itself and unfurls all over again. Fucking Jack is wave after wave of pleasure, and Damon speeds up as much as his hips will allow, chasing the slick, obscene perfection that thrusting into Jack brings.

“Get up,” he says hastily, feeling his balls start to tighten.

Jack does, Damon’s cock slipping free. He tips backward when Damon presses on his chest, making him lie down. Straddling Jack’s chest, Damon pumps his hand on his shaft. Jack gets the hint and takes over soon enough, stroking Damon in quick, firm slides of his fist until ropes of come splatter his chin, his mouth and streak up along his nose and over one eyelid. 

He’s art like this. Damon grabs his face, tilting Jack’s head one way to admire him more thoroughly. He swipes his thumb along Jack’s chin and then nudges against his lips. Jack obediently opens his mouth and sucks, tasting Damon. He sucks until another idea sparks and Damon works his way down the bed to suck Jack’s cock into his mouth.

“What are—” Jack starts, raising his head, and cuts short. His head softly thumps back into the mattress as Damon swallows him down.

He loves that Jack gets hard even when he’s being fucked. Some guys can’t keep it up, he knows, but Jack’s body is perfectly responsive. He’s a natural at rewards, giving himself over to being pushed and used. His doesn’t dam his whimpers as Damon blows him, alternating between sucking hard and bobbing his head until he feels the first taste of come and pulls off.

Damon presses Jack’s cock to his belly, wanting to see it splash up over his stomach and chest. He wants to see Jack as messy as he can get him, their come painting his skin.

His spunk is almost like an inviting trail. Damon doesn’t resist the urge to follow it, kissing Jack’s skin alongside the mess until he reaches Jack’s nipple and takes his time there. Jack is breathing heavy, and Damon can feel his quick heartbeat like this. He sucks Jack’s nipple until he shakes, overstimulated, and finally lets him relax.

“You feel good,” he says. It’s intended as a question, but he likes belatedly that it doesn’t quite come out like one. 

Jack is sated. Damon can see the evidence on him. It’s hot — another win in a whole night of thriving. Damon doesn’t even want to disturb this picture right away.

He works his way off the bed and leaves Jack, stealing glances as he fetches a washcloth. When it’s warm, he wrings out excess water and returns to watch Jack for a while longer. He’s stretched out, eyes still closed and inhaling in deep, calming breaths.

To clean him, Damon starts with his face. He gently clears Jack’s lids so that he can open his eyes again and continues from there. He feels almost reverent, unhurried as he looks his fill at each part of Jack’s body, restoring a blank canvas.

Once he’s finished, he sets the cloth on the side table. A problem for the daylight hours. He moves the bottle of lube there too. Damon tugs Jack to a sitting position, entertained by how he’s not much more than fucked out dead weight. Eventually Damon gets them both under the covers, shielding against any nighttime chill.

He drapes his body along Jack’s, pinning him to the sheets so that he can kiss him some more. It’s sweeter now, without any other intention than having this moment. Jack’s cradles Damon’s face with his hand of his own volition, sliding fingers back into Damon’s hair as he groans into the kisses.

“You know I could make you feel like that all the time,” Damon whispers, like he can’t help it. “You like how I fuck you.”

Groans twist into whines. Damon hopes Jack’s thinking about it — Damon sliding into him as often as they dare.

Damon keeps going between presses of their mouths. “Would you let me?” he murmurs. “Do you want me to keep making you come?”

Jack breaks off to gulp for air. He huffs out a lungful of breath, making a frustrated noise. 

“Jack.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack says, voice reedy and edging toward pleading. “I can’t.”

Damon knows the rules. Still. This is fun. “Blacker had you twice.”

“He won twice,” Jack throws rights back. He’s the one to bite into the kiss this time, making it sting as Damon chuckles. 

Fair enough. Damon gives up on torturing him, rededicating himself to making out with Jack until their lips are kiss-bruised. They slow down naturally, lazier as the minutes pass. Damon hates that his body is beginning to feel heavy, all the adrenaline seeping out of his muscles after a long day.

Eventually, their mouths are touching without moving. Damon palms Jack’s face, fingers tracing his temple — the shape of his cheekbone. He’s imagined fucking Jack any number of ways the last couple weeks, but his brain glossed over how good it could feel to do even this, just be close. Jack is a flawless fantasy and a better prize. 

“Does it weird you out?” Damon asks suddenly. “That we could pick anyone, but it’s always you.”

He shifts back enough to fully see Jack’s face, his low-lidded eyes. 

Jack doesn’t look away but he doesn’t say anything right off either. Damon almost thinks he won’t answer at all, but then he says, “Hallsy told me how it is.” He breathes in and sighs. “I mean, you know the rules coming up but not everything.”

Of course. There’s a difference between what’s on paper and what’s rumor and what’s reality. Damon never really even had to worry about being picked during his rookie year. Given a choice, everybody’s going to pick the best available. Jack was number one.

It’s unfair, Damon thinks, at the same time that he’s hoping he does make first star again this season. He’d still choose Jack. He’d fuck him every chance he gets.

He tells himself he can rally one more time now, even, but can’t quite force his limbs to work anymore. He wants Jack, and he wants to sleep, and he doesn’t mean to let the latter win out. 

Jack’s eyes have fallen shut completely too. His breath is flattening out, dozing, and Damon figures they can concede for a while. He’ll nap for a few hours and then fuck Jack again in the middle of the night, find out if he feels different when he’s half-awake, and finally be satisfied with what he’s cashed in.

— 

It’s morning.

Fuck.

The sun has fully risen when Damon’s eyes blink open. They’re several floors up from the ground, so he can’t even use outside noise as a real indicator for what time of day it might be. He has to gently shift away from Jack to look to the alarm clock in the hotel room.

It displays 8:19. Team breakfast is at ten, so at least he doesn’t have to rush.

Damon gets out of bed to piss. He washes his hands and gargles water, shaking off the grogginess. It’s cool outside of their blanket cocoon, morning chill nipping at his skin enough that Damon doesn’t linger in the bathroom. Jack is still sleeping, legs facing the space Damon’s vacated while his torso is rotated onto his back. The inelegance doesn’t make him any less appealing. 

Responsibility has Damon find his phone off the floor. He checks his messages, nothing pressing, except for a second text from the same automated number that sent the guidelines for Jack last night. It’s a reminder that the time limit has passed, noting that someone on staff will confirm Jack is in his room and fully relieved at 9am local time — like he’s a library book Damon checked out. 

He goes back to the bed, to Jack. Damon could just get dressed and leave, but it feels rude. Jack fell asleep in Damon’s arms last night. Damon’s not an asshole.

Back under the covers, he moves over Jack and kisses his forehead. Damon traces small pecks over the bridge of his nose, his cheeks and down to his collar. There his kisses turn sucking, and Jack still isn’t waking up. Nothing is stopping Damon from continuing, so he does, down to Jack’s nipples, taking one into his mouth and then switching to the other.

Jack stirs, arcing into Damon’s touch. His eyes open a few moments later, unhurried. Damon’s licking and sucking pulls a soft, lush sound from Jack’s throat, all morning helpless and disoriented.

“Sevs,” he mumbles. His hand touches Damon’s shoulder, flexing.

“Hi.” Damon lifts to catch Jack’s mouth, kissing him to complete the greeting. The reciprocation is tired but there, Jack still as good about doing his part as ever.

Damon humps forward, really finding his groove between Jack’s thighs. His legs come up around Damon’s hips, obliging. He’s always so fucking good. Damon doesn’t know how anyone could get enough of this guy. 

He stretches his arm over Jack’s to search blindly for the lube on the side table. Jack tips his head back, trying to see, and it must hit him belatedly how much light is in the room.

“What time is it?” 

“Almost 8:30,” Damon says.

Jack lifts his head, looking around the room. “They always come check.”

“I know,” he says, but he can make this work. “Let me. You want it.”

He kisses Jack again, persuading him with his mouth. All he needs is one more time. Jack’s soft and pliant, and Damon needs to feel it again so he can commit the sensations to memory. He can make them both feel good. 

He proves his point by encircling Jack’s cock with a slick hand first, getting him fully hard. Jack pants into Damon’s mouth, reluctant kisses turned erratic turned keening. 

He slips his fingers low, finding Jack’s hole and pressing one inside. Damon thrusts into him in smooth, careful slides, as sweet as he can make it while Jack’s body continues to wake up to the idea.

“Like that?” he asks, and Jack’s moan is answer enough. 

It’s tough to do this without really seeing, but he doesn’t want to stop kissing Jack for long either. Damon stops finger-fucking Jack to lube his own cock, replacing his hand with the blunt head at Jack’s entrance. The angle isn’t perfect. He can’t really get in and kiss Jack at the same time. Damon pauses to shove a couple of the plush pillows under Jack’s hips. He folds his legs back too, realigning, and this time Damon slides home in a long, determined stroke that makes them both grunt. 

Jack whimpers as Damon gets going. He fucks Jack like he means it, shifting each time Jack makes a promising noise, chasing his enthusiasm. 

“God—fuck, Sev,” Jack gasps, losing the rhythm of their making out.

“Right there?”

Jack hums and sort of nods, trying to buck. “Mhm.” He winds his arms around Damon’s shoulders. His hands slide down and push, like he can guide Damon himself. They come back as Damon fucks him harder, aiming to plunge as deep as he can. “Yeah.”

He wishes he could drag the sex out. Each time he’s fucked Jack has been better than the last, but this one is past the finish line, not tied to anything Damon did last night. This time, Damon slamming into Jack exactly how Jack wants, this is just because Jack’s letting him do it. 

He really would fuck Jack all the time if he could. Damon would take him just like this, folded up and still tired. Being inside him is a dream. They’re in a ragged race against time, Damon fumbling to add just a little more lube, making Jack sloppy. He likes the wet, squelching sound of himself forcing into Jack’s tight hole, molding it to the shape of Damon’s cock.

He only sits back as he feels his climax ratcheting. Damon wants to see. He pushes back the covers and gets on his knees, cool air rushing in to replace the heat of lying skin to skin.

Jack wraps a hand around his own cock, jerking himself while Damon fucks him. He’s mesmerizing. It hits Damon to snatch his phone from the sheets, opening the camera. He records Jack’s hand moving and pans to face, zooming in, then tracks down slowly until he gets to where his cock is steadily pushing inside.

Damon reverses his hips, pulling all the way out just before he comes. Pearly come paints Jack’s skin, collecting around the head of Damon’s cock, and then he presses the head forward again, watching Jack’s hole stretch to welcome him back, spunk and all. His senses go staticky, but he keeps filming and snapping forward, emptying the rest of his load in Jack’s ass. It feels good to keep going, really wringing out every pulse as he watches Jack’s hand speed up. 

“There you go,” he says. “Come on, Jack.”

Jack moans, overwhelmed and stuttered punches of sound. He arches again when he finally gets there, working his hips like he can somehow grind down further on Damon’s cock, come dribbling over his fingers and middle, pooling in his belly button.

Damon stops recording and sets his cell aside in favor of leaning over Jack again, kissing him through his delicious tremors. Jack’s thighs can’t stop shaking, buzzing with it. He gets grabby in the immediate aftermath, his wet hand sliding around Damon’s ribs, licking into Damon’s mouth. The greedy surrender of it is nearly as good as scoring.

Damon wants to stay. He’s half a second away from saying they should skip team breakfast, move this to Damon’s room. It’s fine if Jack misses check-in. They can fuck all day if they want, escaping in each other until morning skate tomorrow.

Jack sighs, turning away to breathe. Damon pants against his face. 

“You cheated,” Jack says. The accusation has less bite when his voice is so airy.

Damon sucks on his earlobe, kisses his neck gently. “You broke the rules for me.” 

Jack brings his eyes back to Damon’s, staring him down. His expression is inscrutable, suddenly withholding like he wants to save face, but he still parts his lips for it when Damon takes another thorough kiss. 

“Jack,” he says, knowing it sounds too pleading. Damon isn’t even sure what he’s asking for, rolling his hips once as punctuation. 

Groaning, Jack says, “You’ll get benched if they catch you.”

Damon has a few more minutes. Let me have you, he wants to say. Tell me I can. He touches his forehead to Jack’s, looking into his eyes even though they’re way too close now. “I like it here.”

“Inside me.”

“With you.”

“Fucking me.” 

“_Stop_.” It might be less frustrating if he actually sounded mean about flipping Damon’s words. He leans back, really wanting to read Jack clearly. “You don’t want me to tell you I like you?”

The ghost of a smile passes across Jack’s mouth, gone as soon as it surfaces. He presses his lips together, making Damon anxious with how easy it is for him to take his sweet time. Damon’s still inside him, softening, and Jack looks entirely casual about it, about Damon, about whether he even feels like speaking anymore.

Damon raises his eyebrows, a prompt. 

Jack smirks. “I want you to play tomorrow.”

Alright, alright. Fine.

He pulls out and moves off the bed. The blankets pool low on Jack’s body, across his thighs, and he doesn’t move to resituate or cover up at all. He watches Damon watch him as Damon wipes his cock off with the cloth and goes about getting himself together. 

He looks at the clock. 8:54.

He really is almost out of time. Damon puts the washcloth in the bathroom sink and goes back for his clothes, just pulling on what he wore here last night. There’s a chance he’ll pass whoever the team sends to check Jack — coach, trainer, Nico. Damon almost wishes he would, that they might be left wondering if he just showered here or if he fucked Jack past time, right up to the edge of trouble. 

Jack rolls out of bed as Damon buttons his shirt. He can hear Jack pee and the toilet flush. The water comes on, and Damon can’t see into the bathroom from where he’s standing but he imagines Jack wiping between his ass cheeks, trying to assess whether there’s more than that left over from all the fun they had.

He’s still naked when he steps into view again. Damon is fully dressed, and Jack leans against the wall, looking at his own stuff still scattered on the floor with their bags.

“Got everything?”

“Yeah,” Damon says, unable to stop from standing in front of Jack, making Jack look up at him. It feels good that Jack’s still undressed, vulnerable. “See you at breakfast?” 

Jack nods and keeps looking at Damon’s face. He smiles for real now, lightly but genuine. Damon isn’t entirely sure what Jack will do if he tries to kiss him again, but he goes for it anyway, pleased when Jack allows his to catch his mouth one more time. Damon makes it as saccharine as he can muster, curving his arm around Jack’s back and pulling him close, tender.

Separating finally, he says, “Bye.”

“I’ll see you in like an hour,” Jack says.

Damon rolls his eyes. “Later, Jack.”

He really does go this time. Jack’s right. He needs to play tomorrow. Damon hoists his bag and heads into the hallway. His phone says 9:02 but the coast still seems clear.

— 

At breakfast, Damon sits at the same table as Mac. He feels refreshed after his shower, clearer headed.

“Hey, there he is,” Mac says.

“Sevvy lives,” Connor says from his other side.

Mac pats his shoulder as Damon sits down with his plate. “All refreshed too, look.”

“Big nights will do that,” says Domingue.

“Okay, knock if off,” Damon says.

He surveys the room quickly. Most of the guys are already accounted for and digging into the food. Damon spots Jack sitting at the same table as Miles, the two of them laughing about something PK’s saying.

“Aww, look at him,” Blake chimes in. “He has withdrawals already.” 

Damon gives him the finger and starts eating his own breakfast. The guys laugh congenially. 

“Don’t worry, Sevs. Even the strongest have been there.”

“It’s not like that,” he says, and yet he finds his eyes seeking out Jack again a few minutes later. This time he accidentally watches long enough that Jack looks up and catches him. The smile on his face doesn’t fade. He holds Damon’s gaze pleasantly, eventually looking away when Miles directs his attention to back to their conversation.

“Makes you want to win again, huh?” Mac says, leaning in to keep the comment just between them.

“Uh,” Damon says, distracted. He shakes his head to focus. “Yeah. I mean, who doesn’t like winning, right?”

He scoops up another bite of eggs and tomato. That’s all it is, he thinks as he eats. That’s all he has to do.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a version of the NHL where veterans who get the locker room award can pick a rookie to take to bed for the night. Most guys choose the highest draft pick, the future stars. Damon gets a night with Jack.


End file.
